Chapter 10
Ten
Rhodes
My phone rings just as we’ve boarded the plane for our flight home.
“Finn,” I say, swiping my finger across the screen and lifting it to my ear. “Is everything o—”
“Daddy?”
My heart seizes. “Chloe, is everything okay?”
“I think that Olive and Pear need clothes.”
I blink. Then again.
“No, honey,” I say quietly as I stride down the aisle, my phone trapped between my ear and my shoulder. “Olive and Pear don’t need clothes. They’re cats. They have fur.”
Hudson snorts, and I glare at him as I sit down.
“And anyway,” I mutter, dropping my bag to the floor and shoving it under the seat in front of me, “you really should be in bed. It’s late. Where’s Finn?”
“Finn’s sick.”
I stiffen. “She’s sick?” I say. “How sick?”
“She took medicine and is sleeping. I was with her, but Olive and Pear woke me up and I think maybe they might be cold.”
I shake my head. Focus.
“Listen, baby,” I say carefully. “I’ll be home in a little over an hour.”
Luckily we’re in Tahoe and the flight back to Oakland won’t take long.
“Okay.”
“Can you do me a favor and be an extra big girl?”
“Yeah!”
“Oh, good. Thanks, baby. Now can you go in Finn’s bedroom and keep an eye on her for me?”
“Yeah!” she says. “I’m really good at watching out for my friends.”
“I know you are.” I pause. “Tell me when you’re there, okay?”
“’Kay.”
I hear her footsteps on the floor as she walks. “Olive and Pear are here too.” Her voice drops to a whisper. “But Finn’s sleeping.”
“She’s sleeping?” I say, my mind racing, my heart threatening to beat its way out of my chest. Finn is four and headstrong and…she’s basically home alone in the middle of the night.
Fuck.
Focus.
“Oh, that’s good,” I push out. “If she’s sick, she needs rest. Can you climb in next to her, make sure she doesn’t get cold?”
Now I hear blankets rustling and—
“I tucked her in nice and tight.” More rustling. “And so are Olive and Pear.” Her breath rattles through the speakers. “And now I am too.”
“Great job, honey,” I say and listen as she tells me about Olive and Pear being sleepy kitties then when she starts sounding drowsy, I remind her I’ll be home in an hour and quietly hang up.
Then groan, scrub my hands over my face.
“You good?” Huddy asks.
I nod and focus, pulling up the camera app on my phone, scrolling through the various feeds at the house. I don’t have cameras in every room and none in the bedrooms, but I have several views of the downstairs and one of the hallway.
I go back through the recordings, watching Chloe head upstairs and into Finn’s room, and exhale in relief.
Then leave the live feed open to the hallway, even though the forward doors are closed and the flight attendants are starting their final checks for takeoff. Thank fuck the plane has Wi-Fi…and the flight attendants don’t say a word about me monitoring the cameras.
“I’m good,” I mutter, my eyes glued to the screen.
Minutes later we’re in the air.
And not all that long later we’re back on the ground.
I grab my bag…
And don’t apologize for pushing my way to the front of the plane.
I just get the fuck out of there and speed the entire way home.
What feels like far too long later, I slip into the house, pausing only to drop my shit on the counter before I’m hurrying upstairs to Finn’s bedroom.
Because my daughter—my precious, stubborn, smart-as-a-whip, four-year-old daughter has been home without supervision, considering Finn is apparently too sick to provide it.
And I wasn’t home.
I was on a fucking plane, counting down the seconds to make it back here.
I’m still feeling that urgency, that stress, that anxiety when I push into the guest room and see my daughter in bed with Finn, totally out, her arms and legs akimbo, her head on Finn’s belly.
Finn…
Who’s awake.
And looks to be at death’s door when her head jerks my way.
“Fuck,” I whisper, knees wavering in a way that has nothing to do with my legs being tired after the game and everything to do with the relief pouring through me.
“I couldn’t lift her to put her back in bed,” Finn rasps.
Yup. Rasps.
“I’ve got her,” I say, striding forward and scooping her up into my arms.
Chloe doesn’t so much as stir. But then again, my baby girl is a deep sleeper, and once she’s out, she’s out. It’s only when she’s really trying to push it on the bedtime that she pulls shenanigans like she did tonight.
“I wouldn’t have gone to sleep if I knew there was a possibility that she was awake,” Finn says, or rather rasps.
“I know,” I tell her. And for as scared as I’ve been over the last hour plus, I mean it. “Don’t worry about it. It’s why we have the child locks on the doors to the outside—this isn’t her first nighttime wandering rodeo.”
“Right.” She nods, but guilt is slicing through her expression. “I still wouldn’t have slept, Rhodes. You have to believe me.”
I frown, cuddle Chloe closer.
Which has something else slicing through Finn’s expression.
Fear?
Genuine fear.
And I remember her words from a few weeks ago.
I just wish they could be proud of me.
Because her parents—
Damn.
“I do believe you,” I say softly.
A tear slides down her cheek. “I—”
“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll bring you some medicine. But for now, you need to get some rest, and if you’re really worried we can talk more in the morning, okay?”
She nibbles at her lip.
But eventually she nods, whispers, “Okay.”
“I’ll be back.” I slip from the room, carrying Chloe over to hers, tucking her—and the kittens—in then closing her door.
Hurrying, I stride into my bedroom—well, stride through it—not stopping until I’m in the bathroom and surveying the contents of my medicine cabinet.
I grab some overnight cold relief tablets, make a pitstop in the kitchen for a couple of saltines and a glass of water then make my way back into Finn’s bedroom.
She’s slumped down, eyes closed, her head on the pillows, her cheeks flushed with fever.
Damn.
“Finn,” I murmur, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.
“Rhodes.”
For a second, I freeze, thinking she’s heard me come in or felt the bed shift.
But no, her eyes are still closed.
“Finn,” I say again, just a little bit louder, hating to wake her but knowing she’ll be a lot better off if she takes the medicine.
“Rhodes.” It’s a whisper…and it’s agonized.
But not because she’s ill, I realize, as her words keep coming.
Because they’re full of longing.
Because they change everything—at least for me.
“Kiss me, Rhodes,” she says on a soft sigh, her head burrowing into the pillows. “Please…kiss me.”
My body moves before my brain catches up.
And suddenly I’m close enough to feel her breath on my lips.
Close enough to give her exactly what she’s asking for.
I wanted—
For weeks now, I’ve wanted.
Just…not like this.
Because she didn’t ask me—not really.
“Shit,” I whisper, forcing myself to straighten, to pull away.
To pretend I never heard those her say those words.
And it’s a good thing I do.
Because when she wakes up in the morning…
She doesn’t remember saying them at all.